


Let's Talk About That

by kingsandkeys



Category: Far Cry 5, Rhett & Link
Genre: Sass, Slang, Testy Festy, eating unusual animals/animal parts, liberal use of gmm quotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsandkeys/pseuds/kingsandkeys
Summary: Sharky and Hurk aren't the only quick-talking duo lurking in Hope County. Rook gains a couple of sassy, misplaced Southern boys who can cook up a storm, dress their hunting dogs in bikinis, and seem to be good at making this whole Resistance thing... kinda fun.You know what time it is...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Jim Bakker's Soup Tears

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize a quote, it's from Good Mythical Morning or Good Mythical More. Pulled mostly from episodes where they eat gross stuff or do camping/prepper type things.  
> Watch the Jim Bakker bucket episode, it's hysterical. #notasponsor

Beckett Rook found himself stumbling along a tiny deer trail as the sun sank rapidly behind the hills at his back. He was quickly losing daylight, and honestly, after shooting down both a turret-truck and a freakin’ helicopter, after clearing the charnel house monstrosity that was O’Hara’s Haunted House… He felt he was due a break. That, or his legs would give out.

The terror- and adrenaline-sweat was quickly cooling on his neck and lower back. Not-quite-summer in Montana still tended to be hot, but the temperature swung wildly at dusk. He needed a shelter, a car, or a friend, and fast.

Wiping his forehead, Rook stopped to breathe by a fat, old tree. Insult to injury, he found his stomach growling; apparently, upchucking his last two granola bars at the realization that there were no _plastic_ mannequins in O’Hara’s had not dissuaded his stomach from food altogether. He dropped his pack with a frustrated grunt and dug out his tattered county map and battered Boy Scout compass.

He spun once to orient himself, eyeballed the compass and the sun and swore loudly and viciously to himself. He had overshot Ghost Cat Mine and had even somehow skirted around the Last Best cemetery. What he figured to be his place on the map was plain, surrounded by unmarked rolling, green hills. A tiny waterway dead East, not much more than a blue line, labeled _Bleak Creek_ was the only indicator out that way.

As he packed away his map, he again swore furiously at himself. He’d lost his radio during his clash with the Peggies outside the haunted house, he’d come out here without even Boomer as back-up, and he’d run entirely the wrong way after the helicopter had gone down.

The tree had a semi-convenient gnarly root almost tall enough to be comfortable when Rook threw himself to sit on it. _Just for a minute, then I’ll turn around and try to aim for Lorna’s._ He scrubbed at his eyes and tried to ignore his growly stomach.

He managed to tune it out, but was too successful, because he found himself startled to awareness by voices closer than he would have expected. The root was much more convenient as a hiding-space for Rook to duck behind while he pulled out his slingshot. Two voices, quiet, but not terribly so. Men.

This first voice Rook could decipher was a little higher, energetic. “I’m pretty sure that them hares are just up here. I feel it.”

The response was a deeper voice, expressing curiosity, “You using your dog brain right now?”

There was a silence, broken only by footsteps cracking semi-expertly through the underbrush. “I… wasn’t, but I’m gonna say that I was.” Both men chuckled and seemed to be moving further away from Rook’s hidey-hole.

He weighed his options. No food, no shelter, and definitely not enough sunlight to make it back to Lorna’s or even Ghost Cat. He stood, staying hidden behind trees as he shadowed the hunters. He wanted to get a peek at the men, check them for mayonnaise-colored sweaters or weird forehead tattoos.

He had lost some distance on them, so he’d lost the thread of their conversation, but caught it again as he slid around a stand of trees. Rook had to bite his lips to hold in a snort.

“If I had a step-sister, I wouldn’t _date_ her,” higher-voice mused. A silence followed.

“…Good to know, Link. But, shut up, quit talking!”

The higher voice, presumably named Link, did not stop. Slightly quieter, “My talking has nothing to do with your shooting!”

“It does though.”

“Just for that reason, I’m not gonna stop talking.”

Rook slid his head around the trunk of a tree and finally caught sight of the hunters. Two men, mid-thirties, clad in generic jeans and flannels, not a PEG cross in sight.

The one that seemed to be ‘Link,’ because he kept quietly chattering (something about what if women laid eggs, and whether it’d be cannibalism to eat unfertilized human eggs), was about of a height with Rook, around 6 foot, though his elaborate swoop of salt-and-pepper hair gave him at least two extra inches. He had thick, dark-rimmed glasses and held his 9mm pistol in a safe, competent way. His eyes belied his aloof demeanor as he carefully watched the woods around them. Rook counted himself lucky that he was just camouflaged enough to stay undetected. Link looked like he knew how to use his weapon.

The other man was much taller than Rook, half a foot at least, and had the ubiquitous Montana-mountain-beard. His hair was long, blond, and wild, almost Peggie-ish, but was pulled back neatly into a half-up tail. At his hip, he had a quiver, mirrored on the other side with a large, sheathed knife. He was still, bow drawn, and eyes creased with concentration, obviously trusting his chattery friend to have his back.

The bow string twanged, and the man redrew quickly, pulled, and released again. He relaxed and turned to grin at his friend. Before he could fully turn, he paused and swept his eyes over Rook’s spot again. Rook stuck his hand, the one with the unloaded slingshot, out into line-of-sight and waggled it. The man caught the movement and drew a bead on Rook’s spot with his bow.

“Shit.” Link turned at his friend’s exclamation and raised his gun. Rook picked his way out into their clearing, placed his hands on his filthy once-blue Hope County Cougars ball cap and gave a tentative grin.

“Hey, y’all. I’m a little lost. Didn’t think anyone was out this far.” He stood still, let the men inspect him the way he’d done them. Tall, stockier than either of them, the pose and the faded grey sleeveless Testy Festy tee highlighted his powerful arms. Holsters and pouches on belt and thigh, with a rope and a rifle crisscrossed over his chest. Blood and dirt, bruises, and abrasions on any available surface. Rook was next to positive his left eye was blossoming into a great bruise.

“You look like about 16 miles of bad road,” Link sassed, and Rook was startled into a laugh.

“Feelin’ it, too, to be fair.” He carefully lowered his hands and, telegraphing his movements, tucked his slingshot back into his belt. The men lowered their weapons but did not bother to put them away. Rook smiled again. “Junior Deputy Beckett Rook, of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Go by Beck or Rook, usually. Some people call me Dep, I guess.” He shrugged.

“Bit of a ways from the jail, there, Deputy. Damn far from Fall’s End on foot, too.” The archer was eyeing Rook’s distinctly not police-issue outfit, so the deputy reached slowly into a cargo pouch and withdrew his badge.

“Yeah,” he held it up in the waning light. “Got turned around at the haunted house. Didja know O’Hara was a serial killer?”

“What?!” Both men sputtered.

“Yep, all a’ his spooky dioramas were dead people. Best guess, missing tourists and hikers.” Rook slipped his badge back into his pocket. Archer-guy slung his bow over his shoulders and pulled out a little burlap sack. Looked like it used to hold beans. “Almost makes me glad the Peggies showed up in a chopper and mowed him down for me.”

Link shivered dramatically. “Eeyuck! I been to O’Hara’s. Man, Rhett, I’m gonna need a shower.”

Rhett, if that was his name, hummed distractedly, then backed into the bushes and rustled around. His sack was lumpy and sullenly bleeding when he came back into the clearing.

“So, uh, I’m Rhett, ‘n’ this is Link. We’re living just over by the creek, if you need a place to kip for the night.” He waved the wet sack. “Definitely enough meat to share. Even if I have to use all parts of this.”

“Oh! You’re like a true survivalist!” Link giggled to himself, then jerked his head back the way they’d come.

“I’d be mighty grateful for it, gentlemen. I’ve had enough wolverine encounters to last ‘til Kingdom Come. Started wearing double boxers to protect my privates from those sadistic bastards.” All three of them shivered as they started off in the lengthening shadows of the trees.

“Well, you listen to Bible Daddy Joseph, you’d think Kingdom Come ain’t that far off,” Rhett opined, shoving tree branches out of his face.

Rook choked on his next inhale and spluttered. Link, from behind, giggled again. “Soundin’ a bit like Jim Bakker, Dep.”

Very solemnly, Rhett paused to look back at his friend. “Nobody chokes like Jim Bakker.” He started walking again.

Link drew up next to Rook. “You ever seen that guy? Televangelist, you know. Doomsday prepper ‘n’ all, but way less shirtless than Bible Daddy. Back in the day, I would watch Jim Bakker, just for the entertainment value.”

Rhett shoved aside a few last branches, and the three of them emerged close to the bank of a small river. Slightly too large to truly be considered a ‘creek.’

“Oh yeah, so entertaining,” he muttered, deadpan, and strode toward a wider spit of land with a neat cabin half-perched on stilts over the water.

“I mean, ‘s not entertaining anymore, you know, now we’ve got our own Doomsday Bible guys. Right, Dep?”

Rook nodded, a little overwhelmed with the men’s back-and-forth, but wildly entertained, nonetheless. He followed the two up onto the porch, where Rhett was dumping his spoils onto the wood to be cleaned.

“Oh no, oh no. Oh my goodness, what is that?” Link stared with horror at the fat grey raccoon laying dead beside the sleek brown hare.

Rhett shook his head. “Link, this is a _raccoon,”_ he drawled with condescending slowness. Link gagged dramatically and scurried into the house. Rhett sighed and shook his head once more. He turned to Rook.

“You know how to skin a rabbit or anything?” Pitching his voice louder to carry through the screen door after Link, he said, “You could use a knife, ‘cause some people aren’t allowed to do that!”

“Yeah, man, I can skin whichever one you want.” He paused. “Why isn’t your friend allowed to use a knife?”

Rhett squat down and started working his own knife under the raccoon pelt. “He does not,” he emphasized the word with a sharp rip along the belly. “Practice proper safety procedures with knives.”

Rook dropped his pack and his rifle onto the stained boards and squatted beside the hare. His knife was a little large for the animal, but it was sharp, and Rook had nimble hands. The two of them worked efficiently and quietly beside each other, hands bloody, for a few minutes, until Rhett cleared his throat. He huffed a little, seemingly annoyed.

“By the way…” He trailed off. Rook looked up and saw Rhett’s face contorting as he tried to word what wanted to say. “I do not condone eating the eggs of women.”

Rook’s dropped knife clattered in rabbit blood as he burst into uncontrollable laughter.


	2. Cop Drugs and Real Boys

Link emerged from the cabin when Rook and Rhett finished skinning and gutting the little creatures. He grimaced and held out a bucket for the bodies and walked back through the screen door with a frown on his face. Rhett draped the skins over the porch rail.

“C’mon over here,” Rhett muttered to Rook, leading him off the porch, down to the river’s edge. Both men rinsed the soles of their boots and scrubbed blood off their knives and hands.

“Uh, what about the entrails?” Rhett smirked and whistled sharply. Off across the river, barking was heard, scaring a flock of birds out of the trees.

“Jade, Barbara!” Rhett straightened up, watching across the water, then grinned when two dogs burst through the underbrush. Rook started to smile but it froze on his face when he realized that the dogs, a large white-haired curly mutt and a black-and-brown Aussie Shepherd, were wearing tutus. The pink skirts were torn and dirty, but still springy.

The dogs eagerly leapt into the water and paddled to shore, where they shook water from their fur and waggled their tutus. Rhett scrubbed hands over the wiggling, eager dogs. He turned to Rook. “This one,” he pointed at the white dog. “Is Barbara, and the other girl is Jade.” He stood and led the way to the porch. “Here you go, baby-girls, dinner!”

The dogs scarfed at the entrails, tails blurring in their excitement. “Alright, boots off, come on in. Link’s not allowed to cut the meat up either.” He toed off his boots and disappeared into the house.

Rook sat on a clean patch of wood and tackled his water-tightened, mud-crusted bootlaces. The dogs growled playfully and bumped at each other as they ate. Sitting, he could feel his muscles starting to protest, and he sighed. His left boot finally loosened.

“You still out there, Deputy Rook?” Link peeped out the screen door.

Rook sighed again. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. My laces are stuck, and I think I sprained my trigger finger.” He waved his left hand, showing the swelling on his knuckles. Link hummed, and came out, crouching in front of Rook. Their faces were awfully close. He reached for the filthy laces.

“Oh! Thank you!” The laces released, and Link stood again, hand out to help Rook up. Rook hefted himself up, kicked off his boots and grabbed his gun and pack. He waved at the door. “Lead the way. Also, by the way, call me Beck or Rook. I’m serious.”

“Hi, serious,” Link snarked back. He led Rook through a nice, if somewhat shabby, living room, into a cramped, clean kitchen. Rhett was hard at work by the oven, seasoning unidentified lumps of meat. He turned to regard the two.

“Now, just a warning that the meat is gonna be very red, and that is not because it’s undercooked. It’s just that raccoons got red meat.” Link gagged heavily.

“Ugh, subject change. So, yeah, Beck, we never really introduced ourselves.” Link sat at the little breakfast island and waved Rook over to sit beside him. “That there is Rhett McLaughlin,” a lazy hand-wave towards the big man. “And I’m Charles Lincoln Neal the third. You can call us Rhett and Link.”

“That’s what our mommas call us,” Rhett mused. He shoved a baking sheet covered in weird meat into the oven and washed his hands. Turning to the island, he said, “So, Dep, what the hell is goin’ on out there? How bad is it getting?”

Rook leaned heavily on his un-sprained hand. He looked over at his pack, chock-full of explosives and ammo, and felt the itch of the heavy rope across his chest. He thought about how many men he’d had to kill today.

“Bad.” Link leaned towards him, about to ask a question. Rook cut him off. “They’re kidnapping people all through the county. Jacob’s running them through tests, Faith’s drugging them up, and John is forcefully baptizing them.”

“Ugh,” Link scoffed. “I’m not about to let that fancy-schmancy John guy baptize me.”

“We’ve already been baptized in North Carolina,” Rhett added.

“Yeah, I was ten.”

“We got dunked in that water, we’d get in that water all the way.”

“Full immersion.”

“All the way under and come back up.”

Rook snorted a laugh. “Yeah, me too, in Georgia. And something about how much John enjoys it seems wrong. He tried on me a coupl’a weeks ago.”

“That definitely ain’t right,” Rhett agreed, leaning against the counter.

“Plus,” Link said. “I gotta hold my nose, and I bet he ain’t let you do that.”

Rook couldn’t hold back a laugh at that, and the other two joined in. It was soothing, something in Rook relaxing, to laugh with other people after everything he’d been through, especially after O’Hara’s.

Link stopped first and wrinkled his nose. “Christ Almighty, Beck, you smell like the inside of a boot full of rats. I can taste it. It tastes like I’ve been wronged in the mouth!”

Rook shrugged helplessly. “I crawled through a haunted house full’a dead bodies, set off several homemade explosives made out of manure, and also maybe haven’t seen running water in a few days?”

“We got water. We got all the water.” Link urged Rook up and along a short hall while Rhett giggled in the kitchen. They passed through a neat bedroom full of photographs of Link and other people, and into a compact bathroom. Rook took none of that in because his eyes were drawn insistently to the shower.

“We got a filtration system that pulls from the creek, since we ain’t attached to the sewer system out here.” Link rattled around in a cupboard and withdrew clean towels. “And I’ll grab some clean clothes for you.” He looked critically over Rook’s body. “You’re my height but one of Rhett’s shirts’d probably fit your shoulders better.” He shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. Enjoy the shower, please god, because I’ve had to breathe through my mouth. And I don’t like to have my mouth open the whole time.”

Rook laughed, and with a smile, Link left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Rook cut on the water, and moaned in happiness when the clear, not-tinted-green water grew warm.

His shower wasn’t long, but it wasn’t the utilitarian, trying-not-to-get-Blissed scrubs at abandoned homes, or the ‘dear God it’s freezing’ dips in ponds and rivers. He felt lazy and sated, smelling woodsy and warm like Link’s shampoo. Out in the bedroom, a soft pair of black joggers and a sleeveless shirt advertising ‘Morning Wood Lumber Company’ were draped on the bed.

After dressing, Rook gathered his filthy clothes and wandered back to the kitchen. Rhett was puttering around, chopping vegetables. He turned to Rook, “Clothes fit alright?”

“Yeah, thanks so much. I feel like a real boy.” Rhett snorted. Rook plopped his clothes on a stool, dropping his holstered handgun and his slingshot, and started emptying his cargo pant pockets. Matches, badge, ammo, bandages… Any number of things dropped in a pile on the countertop.

“Link’s in the laundry room, emptying the washer so you can clean your stuff.”

“Oh, god. That sounds so amazing. I haven’t washed these pants beyond river rinses since the start of all this.”

Rhett pulled a face of disgust. “Oh, Rook, you gotta go wash your clothes. That’s disgusting, man.” He waved towards a door on the other side of the room. “Through there.”

Rook smiled and detoured to his pack, where he yanked out a small armful of other clothes. Through the door, Link was gathering a basket of wet clothes. His eyes dropped down over Rook.

“Hey man, lookin’ much better. Washer’s free.”

“Thank you so much. I’m so grateful for y’all.” He started to load his clothes into the washer.

“Nah, Beck, don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed help, and we were there to help you.” He headed towards the door. “And anyway, I’m getting the feeling that you’re out there helpin’ the whole county during these whole stupid shenanigans.” Rook felt himself blush a little and shrugged one shoulder. Link’s eyes followed the shrug. “Washer takes about half an hour, and we got a clothesline out the side. Rhett says food should be ready in a few.”

“Great.” When he was done starting his laundry, Rook returned to the kitchen. The smell of the cooking food had gotten more _interesting_ while he’d been in the laundry room. Not great, honestly, but Rook supposed it was probably the raccoon. Rhett was washing a few utensils and humming to himself. He didn’t stop when Rook walked in, just shot him a little smile over his shoulder.

Rook grabbed his pack and set about rearranging the stuff inside, something he hadn’t had a chance to do yet today. “You guys see much Peggie activity out here?”

“Not really. Not a lot out here for them to care about. We met John once, came out to see about us selling the property.” He shrugged and cut off the water. “Must’ve not cared too much about it, though, ‘cause when we said no, he never came back.” He came to lean on the counter across from Rook, eying the supplies carefully laid out on the counter.

Ammo, replacement bands for his slingshot, an overstuffed medkit, more ammo, some improvised explosives (not the manure or Molotov variety), a box of fishing lures, more ammo, a collapsible fishing pole, some unexplained baggies of “herbs,” and, inexplicably, a stack of cash. He poked curiously at the baggies. Rook blushed hard.

“Listen,” he said defensively. “Aaron Kirby gave it to me, it’s some weird shit he calls Fast.”

“You, a cop, let Tweak Kirby give you meth,” Rhett drawled out incredulously.

“Wait, who’s doing meth?” Link asked, as he came in from the living room.

“No one! It isn’t meth.” Rook popped open one of the baggies and showed them the powder inside. It was fine grit and a little greenish.

“Okay, so you, a cop, let Tweak Kirby give you Bliss cocaine.” Rhett was obviously starting to enjoy the discomfort on Rook’s face.

“It’s a homeopathic performance enhancer. It just makes my reaction time faster.” He went back to reloading his bag.

Rhett and Link both chuckled. “Pretty sure you could call cocaine a homeopathic performance enhancer, and it makes you faster, too.” Rhett had a smirk on his face. “And I bet you snort it like cocaine too, don’t’cha?” Rook’s ears turned pink.

“Yeah, yeah. Go check on your raccoon and leave me alone,” Rook couldn’t keep his frown up and a smile peeked through.

Link shuddered at the reminder of their dinner menu. “I really don’t want to eat raccoon, to be perfectly clear.”

Rhett, leaning over to look in the oven, “Before you decide you don’t want to eat a raccoon, at least lick a raccoon.”

Link gagged again. “God, I wish the grocery store was still open, and not, you know, ransacked by Church People.”

“Sorry we ran out of boring food.”

“I feel like there’s pretty large difference between wanting boring food and not wanting to eat a little trash critter.”

“It ain’t a trash critter out here, Link, it’s just a critter. What trash you think it’s been eating?” Rook watched the back and forth like a tennis match as he cinched shut his now-full bag.

“Well, I don’t know! It sure smells like trash. Maybe it came down from Moonflower, goodness knows what kind of trash Sharky’s got goin’ on up there!”

“Not a lot, I’d say,” Rook cut in. “Seeing as how he’s using all of it to burn Angels in the empty pool.”

“What?” the two said simultaneously.

“Burning what in the empty pool?” Both men were staring at Rook now. He shrugged.

“Turns out, if you’re on Bliss for too long, or have too much, you get sort of… zombified. Completely brainless except for violence and following Peggie orders. Faith calls ‘em her ‘Angels.’ They, uh, run at you and try to kill you, not matter what. Shot one of them in the throat and he kept after me even as he bled out.” Rook dropped his bag back over by his rope and rifle and sat on the empty stool. “They’re everywhere, can be pretty calm, hiding in the woods until someone happens by. Sharky’s been luring ‘em in with music and roasting them with his flamethrower.”

“Jesus Christ, man. You can’t help them instead of cooking them?” Link’s eyes were very wide.

“Doc Lindsey had a couple quarantined at the jail but the longer they were away from the Bliss, the more agitated they got, until they ended up killing themselves in their frenzy. Longest one of ‘em lasted was… three, four days?”

“Doc… Lindsey? The vet?” Rhett was leaning towards Rook now, confusion evident.

“Yeah, I guess the only other medical professional in the county who’s not part of the Peggies is the midwife over in Holland Valley. And she said she wanted no part in anything to do with Angels. Spook her out, what with the biting thing.”

“The… biting… thing…” Link said faintly.

“You guys really have been left well enough alone out here, huh?” He sighed and gently rubbed the bruising on his knuckles. “There’s nothing we can do for them. Can’t quarantine them without them dying, either in a craze or just because, you know, they don’t eat or drink. They’re just a constant danger to everyone around them. I don’t really like how Sharky does it, no, but there’s not enough man-power or ammo to shoot them all.” He shrugged again. “And at least they die faster than how the Peggies kill them. They drop ‘em down Horned Serpent Cave and let them wander until they starve, or until they fall into the thermal water.”

“Jesus…” Link whispered.

“Fuck, fuck, let’s fucking… change the subject! Raccoon’s ready.” Rhett whirled around to grab the food from the oven, and Link stood shakily to grab dishes.

“Hey, Beck, can you grab some beers from the fridge?” Rook could tell that Link was trying to force normalcy, so he just nodded and snagged three Whistling Beavers from the fridge. He followed Link into a small dining room and helped him set the table. Rhett entered with a platter of meat, potatoes, and green beans, which did not smell great. The raccoon was indeed very red. Link had turned a little green.

“Alright, alright, you big baby. You can eat the rabbit.”

“Thank you, Rhett!” Link said with a huge sigh. “I do not think I could keep raccoon down.”

The three served themselves, and, with trepidation, Rook cut himself a bite of raccoon. It was cooked well, and liberally seasoned. Chewing quickly turned to gulping, and he grabbed for a swig of his beer.

“Woo! The seasoning’s great, but the meat took a real turn. A real hard turn right into a dumpster.”

Link chuckled, and Rhett nodded enthusiastically. “There’s just a weird… I dunno. It’s greasy, but the aftertaste…”

“Like breathing really heavy with an open mouth in a marsh.”

Rhett snorted. “Not how I would’ve phrased it, but yeah, that works. It’s not… inedible?”

Rook shook his head and cut some more meat. “Nah. Not my favorite thing in the world, but honestly, I’d eat uncooked raccoon at this point.” All three of them laughed.

“You any good with that fishing pole, Rook?” Rhett frowned as he chewed. “If you stay for a bit, the creek’s full of smallmouth.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rook grinned. “I’ve gotten a lot of practice. Caught the Admiral, you know?”

“No way! I do not believe you,” Link said.

“Mm-hmm. Ask Adelaide Drubman. She’s pissed at me for it since she had to pay Skylar Kohrs $3,000 for it.”

“Why’d she pay Skylar if you caught it?”

“Skylar split the money with me, but she’s the reason I knew about the thing anyway. She said she needed the money to pay her way out of the county. Don’t know who she was gonna pay, or if it worked, actually,” he mused, biting into a bean. He snorted. “Addie said she’ll forgive me if I have a threesome with her and her boytoy, Xander.”

Link laughed. “Yeah, she’s been kind of persistent towards Rhett and I since she sold us this house.”

“It’s been, what, ten years?” Rhett chuckled.

“She’s a rowdy old gal, that’s for sure. Told her I don’t swing that way, and all she said was that it’d be fine if she could watch me and Xander go at it.” Rook froze as soon as he realized what he’d said; Hope County was a friendly place, usually, but country folk didn’t always have the best reaction to the reveal that he was gay. But Rhett and Link didn’t seem bothered, just laughing and shaking their heads at Adelaide’s hijinks.

“Xander’s a nice enough guy, if a little too,” Rhett tilted his hand a little. “Crunchy?”

“He asked me if he could help me stretch my quads. Seemed really put out when I said no.” Link wiggled his eyebrows, then paused and looked kind of thoughtful. “Almost went in on it, though.”

Rhett laughed, but Rook spaced out for a moment. He was lost, trying to decide what that statement meant. Was Link gay? Was that the implication? And if he was, were he and Rhett together? Rook automatically shoved more meat in his mouth and got startled by the gamey flavor. He choked it down and cleared his throat.

“How long have you two been together?”

Link coughed. “Together? Like, couple together?”

Rhett shook his head, “Nope, nope. Not together.” He waved his hands. “No, ew.”

“Ew? Wow, how rude. I’m not gross. You’re gross!”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“We’ve been friends since we were six. I wouldn’t touch his naked body with someone else’s hand.” Rhett was very emphatic.

Link was visibly offended. “I am a goddang catch, I’ll have you know, Rhett!”

“Not my type.” Rhett shrugged.

Link pouted but looked at Rook from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I know your type.”

Rhett reddened. “Shut up, Neal.” He started eating with gusto. Link didn’t respond.

Rook was a little confused. “So, uh… What have you guys been doing out here since all this happened?”

Link’s mouth twitched. “Trying to get out some kind of message to the outside world. Hiding. Hunting for food. Listening to Bible Daddy be crazy on the radio.” Rook hummed.

“What have you been doing?” Rhett leaned on his fist.

“Ughhh…” Rook shoved a piece of potato in his mouth and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I started out in Holland Valley. Taking some of the cult’s outposts, getting Peggies out of Fall’s End. Blowing up cult silos full of Bliss. Letting Kim Rye feed me sandwiches and tell me that John Seed has a crush on me.” Both Rhett and Link laugh. “Then I headed up to the Whitetails, ran away from wolves and got people out of cages. Got side-eyed by Tammy Barnes, who is the scariest schoolteacher on the planet. Left there because Jacob is everywhere, and what he does to people is fucking terrifying.”

“Big Mountain Daddy is pretty creepy,” Link says, and Rook laughs hollowly.

“Yeah, well, he’s brainwashing people to react to a song by turning into ultimate warrior types. Any weapons, any target, even each other. They’re faster, stronger, better shots… And Jacob doesn’t even have to be near you to trigger you. He does it over the radio sometimes, too.” Rook felt a twinge of guilt about not telling Rhett and Link that he'd been put through the trials once already. He didn't want them to be scared.

“Fuck, really?” Rhett is leaned forward, brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” Rook looked down and realized that he’d finished his meal while he was talking. “Yeah, that’s why I left. Though Henbane has its own shit. I’m glad to find the Sheriff up at the jail, and Hurk and Sharky run around with me sometimes, but I’m starting to get tired of the Bliss dreams of Faith flirting with me.”

Link shook his head. “Wait, why do you have dreams about Faith flirting with you?”

“I think everyone does. It’s only when I’m near Bliss fields, you know. It’s her way of converting people, I guess, just kind of make you think you want it. She made me think I jumped off the Joseph statue, ‘Leap of Faith,’ she called it.” He scoffed.

Link shoved away from the table and started gathering their plates. “Beck, your clothes should be ready to hang up.” He walked out, shoulders tight.

Rhett watched him go, then turned to Rook. “He’s… nervous. Part of why we haven’t left Bleak Creek.”

Rook leaned his head back on the chair. “I don’t blame him.”


End file.
